Tough Love
by royal-tarts
Summary: Emilee travels to the Capitol Wasteland and finds herself in Point Lookout. For the time being she decides to spend her time at the Calvert Mansion with Desmond Lockheart.


8c5c8b751d |royal-tarts

Another dead swampfolk.

Emilee watched Desmond shoot one from the balcony of the Calvert mansion as she sat in a faded red chair off to his right, watching the swampfolk slowly fall to their knees and then face plant into the soggy ground. That was the third one in five minutes. Let the natural world take care of that poor fool's death. She had other things to get done. Fucking swampfolk.

Desmond let out a small scoff as he rocked on the balls of his feet, one hand gripping the sniper as the other one smoothed out his mustache. It was around five at night and the sun was painted up in the sky hidden behind a thick mesh of lite grey clouds. A soft mist began to come down suddenly as Desmond held out a hand to the tiny girl. Taking it he helped her up and walked her back inside. Closing the doors they stood in a parlor room surrounded by damaged furniture and faded drapes and carpet. Old wooden floors chipped from its glossy coating and then caked on with layers of dirt and dust.

"This isn't fun," Emilee said suddenly to Desmond as he headed for the door.

Emilee hasn't even been at the Calvert Mansion for nearly five hours and already she was regretting coming here. All that was happening here was that Desmond was making her watch him do meaningless things that she didn't give two shits about. Sure, she had asked him to find her something to do; watching him have fun and do something wasn't exactly what she meant.

"You just don't know how to have fun." Desmond scoffed as he left the room.

"Well," Emilee protested following him, "Watching you have fun isn't my idea of fun."

Desmond ignored her. He had the same thought with a pre-war mind about woman. That they were nothing else good for other than sex, cooking, cleaning, something to look at and then have children; that's all they were here to do. However, from what he can already tell that Emilee isn't good for any of those things, maybe sex, cooking and definitely a pretty thing to look at, but he wasn't going to let a pretty pair of golden eyes distract him from his morals.

"Maybe that's because you're pathetic."

They both halted in the hallway. A sudden atmosphere change made Emilee nearly stand up on her toes as if trying to get up to Desmond's height. She stared into his bleak blue eyes with a terrible scowl. She wanted to slap him; yet, her hand was frozen into a fist stuck to her side. Many thoughts popped into her head, they were insults that would make a nun shutter. Instead, she straightened out the large bulky jacket he had given her and snorted at him.

"I'm not pathetic, dick head."

Desmond just stared at her; he had every right to slap her in her dirty mouth. He rolled his eyes and without a word he walked away from her. His lips or whatever he could call lips, began to twitch in anger as he tried to ignore her. Sure, her insult wasn't exactly that insulting, he had been called worse.

Emilee watched him walk away. Unknowing exactly what to do or where to go she followed him into a nicer looking parlor room with a beaten up couch and a liquor cabinet. A few nightstand tables and a bookshelf decorated the far corner of the room as a desk with a working computer and multiple stacks of papers and books decorated it.

Desmond walked across the faded floral carpet setting the sniper against the broken bookshelf as he reached for a half-empty bottle of whiskey. He grabbed two dirty shot glasses and poured the brown liquid inside each one filling it nearly to the top. He set aside the bottle and carried the two glasses over to Emilee, handing her one harshly he turned away and took a shot. She looked down at the glass, with his back turned she jerked the glass into a nearby pot.

"Fine, how are you enjoying yourself," he said with a calmer tone to his voice.

She fell silent for a second, unsure whether or not to start ranting at him or maybe to just tell him honestly. The room was beautiful, however, that wasn't what she should've been thinking about; she should answer his question.

"Well?"

"Oh, uh," she began moving her hand around to try and gesture, "I'm not enjoying myself."

He scoffed at her.

"What do you expect?" She said stepping towards him, "I come here to get shelter from this piss-ant place and all you can do is drag me off to only do things that you want to do. I don't mean to sound selfish or snotty in anyway but I'm your guest and if you had any hosting manners to speak of then you would try and find out what I would want to do instead of guessing and just have me do what you would want me to do."

Desmond shook his head as if he understood all that she was saying, when in reality he was getting annoyed and pissed off by her voice at this point. She had a pretty voice, sweet and the perfect pitch for her body size, but it didn't sound right when she bitched and complained.

He set the shot glass down on the arm of the couch, not even moving to catch it as it fell to the floor cracking into pieces. Desmond lifted a hand from within his pants pocket and ran it over his peeling face, trying not to turn to her and then belittle her like he thought she should have. Instead, he sat down on the beaten couch and gestured towards her.

"Sit with me."

Emilee was taken aback by his sudden offer. She didn't know what to think of him, she thought he was a cynical, manipulative individual who could easily get and have whatever he wanted. All he ever did was either yell or complain about things she didn't understand or know; it annoyed her something fierce. However, instead of complaining anymore she hesitantly walked over to the couch and sat at the other end on the edge of the seat. He rolled his eyes.

"I said sit with me not sit near me."

She rolled her eyes but she gave in and scooted closer to him and settled herself next to him, leaning away. He rested his elbow on the arm of the couch and ran a finger over his mustache. As he did this she watched him. It took him a few moments before he had to take a double take and realize that she had been watching him. She was so much smaller than he was a tiny petite body in comparison against his. Even with that bulky coat on her she was still smaller than he was.

"You really are pathetic," he said running his eyes against her body again, "Really are."

Emilee scowled him from his sudden insult.

"Well 'scuse me for not being how you want me to be," she snapped at him, "So 'scuse the shit out of me Mr. Shithead."

She gripped the tiny glass into her hand even harder than she had before. Desmond reached for it to only hesitate when she jumped. He took it from her and set it and tossed it across the room where it hit the wall and broke into many pieces.

"Mr. Shithead," he repeated a few times under his breath, "Better start watching your mouth, might have to wash it out with soap miss."

Emilee swallowed hard feeling the threat he had posed to her. She looked away clenching her hand as if the glass was still inside. Suddenly she stood and tore of the jacket and didn't even make it a few steps before Desmond grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

"You aren't thinking about leaving are you," he shoved her back to the couch, "You wouldn't last another minute out there with those inbred retards."

"At least their better than you are, Desmond."

Desmond just glared at her trying to think of that was an insult or a compliment; either one it was going to piss him off. He adjusted his glasses on his face; with no nose it was hard to keep a pair on one's face; especially if you're a ghoul. For a moment Emilee didn't know if he was going to scoff her, hit her or throw her out of the mansion. She braced herself for any of those possibilities and then he dropped his hand from his face slumping into the couch cushion.

"The things I did to beat that motherfucka'," Desmond mumbled to himself as he abruptly got up and swaggered over to the liquor cabinet, "And only to know another exists somewhere up north." He lifted another shot glass to his mouth.

"Who, the playa's in your game?" Emilee asked adjusting her skirt. The tights she had on underneath been pitch black with a hole near the knee; they reached the middle of her shin. From what he had told her, facing the nuclear holocaust, global leaders and members of the intelligence community made personal bids for survival in the new world. F.E.V., cryogenic stasis, AI consciousness, even - in Desmond's case - controlled exposure to normally lethal doses of radiation were among the wildly risky and experimental techniques pursued in the name of survival in a world without modern infrastructure.

Desmond looked at her surprised that she had remembered what he had told her. "Yes, the ones in this chess game, I've knocked down a few pawns and knights but the King is still reigning." He looked towards the window as rain impaled it like stones hitting against each other.

"What about the Queen?" Emilee asked him resting her arms on the back of the couch, curious if any woman were involved with this game.

He scoffed at her question. "No, there is no Queen in this particular chess game; sure I had my share telling a few broads about it but to bring one into the game would be fucking regretful. They would use one man and then they would go use the next to try bringing in their own benefits than others. So now, there are no Queens," he rolled his neck a few popping noises followed.

Emilee didn't know whether or not to feel offended by his remark about woman; though she couldn't help feel that it was true. Sure, she had her share of manipulating men to do as she wished and once she got it she moved to the next. Instead, somehow his comment was like an insult inside of a compliment.

"Listen bird, we all have our little secrets that we keep," he filled the shot glass again; "I'm sure your no little Miss. Perfect anyway."

"Well no, I'm not perfect, granted I have no idea on how I'm still alive. I walked from the Mojave to Capitol Wasteland, and yet I still stand in one piece before you. Maybe I am Miss. Perfect because I only have a few bumps and bruises and a scar here and there. I'm a coward okay; I hide when danger is around or I run like the dickens and I will wait the three hours or so it takes until they leave."

Desmond eyed her as she sat back down properly on the couch, her face twisting into a pout. "What a miracle you would say?" He laughed as he returned to sit next to her, "A miracle that you're alive?"

"Well, yeah look at ghouls, children or elderly people, there still alive, why do I have to be different?" Emilee was less tensed and now more engaged with Desmond by this point. He seemed nicer when he got to talk about what he wanted to and when he had a drink in his hand.

"Because not everyone in this god-damned shit hole we call a Wasteland wear's a skirt nor doesn't look like a porcelain doll," he took a sip, "Besides, a tiny beautiful woman such as yourself, surprised you're not chained up like a sex slave yet."

Again, she didn't know whether or not to take that as an insult or as a compliment. Was she beautiful enough that someone would want to keep her like a pet or was she just not fit enough to live in the Wasteland?

"Desmond, I like how I am and… I wouldn't change myself for the world or for anyone at all."

He glared at her. She was an odd piece of work alright; no one with her piece of mind or body would be okay living in a world they now lived in. However, there's always a beacon in the night.

"Well," he smirked at her, "At least someone is being positive in this world."

Emilee smiled at him leaning against the back of the couch feeling better about being there after seeing Desmond's good side. Sure he might have been a little buzzed but it was better than him yelling and swearing every ten seconds. For a moment she nearly wanted to lean against him feeling embraced by his strong and powerful personality. Instead, she remained seated with her legs crossed and arms folded across her chest.

Desmond watched her like a vulture at this moment. She was pretty, petite, carless and ignorant of the terrible things around her and yet; how was she still alive? It began to occur to him for a quick second that maybe not all things in the Wasteland were and or bad, vicious power-hungry things. She had been okay, granted when she came into the mansion she had a slight black-and-blue eye and a dislocated finger but she was still smiling and glowing. Maybe, just maybe, there was still some kindness left in this place.

"Shit."

Emilee shot up from her tranquil state and collected her thoughts. "I was supposed to be at Duchess Gambit to leave this place… Nadine… uh…"

Desmond watched her little freak out for a moment, thinking it was quite cute and comical.

"Thank you, Desmond, I have to go…" She jerked up and turned away from him.

He felt rushed as she got up to leave. Abruptly he stood spilling his drink and grabbed her wrist jerking her back to him, nearly slamming into his chest.

"Wait, we haven't even done what you wanted to do first," he said letting her go.

All she could do was stare back at him, her mouth twitching from not trying to smile at all. He wanted her to stay and that made her feel good about herself for many reasons; one is that some people couldn't stand that fact that she asked too many questions and talked way too much.

"Wow," she breathed, "Took my breath away, nice seduction there Desmond." Emilee smiled up at him not hiding her red cheeks and strong grip on the front of his suit.

"Seduce you?" he scoffed at this with a smirk, "I've been around for a long damn time sweetheart and to waste it with that ridiculous semblance. If I wanted you, I'd just fucking take you."

"Well," Emilee breathed as she got up on her tip toes and got close to his face, "Are you going to take me?"

No hesitation as Desmond wrapped his arms around Emilee's waist and held her close to him; she was warm and soft compared to his dry, cold slender build.

"You're goddamn right I am."

Suddenly he bent at his waist and pressed an enduring but hot open-mouthed kiss to her lips. It tasted like whiskey and tobacco. His hands ran down the length of her lower back as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their heights were out match but they made the most of it in this moment of ignorant bliss, he took a firm grip on her sides as he suddenly lifted her and held her there, her breasts near his neck as he leaned back some to give her more height.

He put her down and then sat back down on the couch, gesturing for her to come over and sit on his lap. "Have a seat."

Emilee took no time to waste; she put her hands on his shoulders and straddled him leaning back into with an open-mouthed kiss. He would slide his semi-wet tongue into hers as he drove into her with such passion and power that Emilee would let out lite breathy sighs. Desmond gripped her short brown hair into hand and felt the softness between his fingers, granted he had hair, but hers was so soft and smooth; another miracle in the Wasteland.

"Apparently you've been around long enough for this huh," Emilee said bringing her face away from his. A sweet sound escaped Desmond when she retreated her pretty little flushed face.

"I've got a hundred years of experience on you, and don't you forget it!"

7 


End file.
